A New Start
by Intemperate Zones Ahead
Summary: AU of some sort... Ivan is trying the experiment one more time, to the exasperation of his coworkers. Maybe this time, his new companion will turn out right. Sci-Fi, I guess...


The solitary drop falls into the container, catching the light and glinting an odd shade of blue on the way down, barely creating a splash in its receptor. The vat filled with an odd, colorless substance that is neither solid nor liquid shudders ominously in response. Ivan hurries back to the nearby table and delicately places the dropper near the edge, carefully avoiding today's novel worth of notes spread across the rest of the surface.

He has a good feeling about this one. Well, Ivan tries to be optimistic about all trials and all subjects, but on the rare occasions his subconscious seems to predict success, he likes to indulge a rather child-like habit of believing it.

It is hardly a scientific kind of behavior, but almost nothing about Ivan speaks of a scientist. He is tall, too tall to look like a sophisticate, and he is built sturdily, muscles from years of unforgiving labor in order to get this position in the Labs. The work was hard, but Ivan does not regret one second of it, not when he gets to do what he has spent years striving for. In fact, it might be the endless hours of catering to the demands of an invisible taskmaster that make his current job so enjoyable.

The scientist picks up a sheet of scribbled observations and warnings, frowning at the areas where it seemed as if he had broken into his mother language without noticing. It really was a bad habit, as it further antagonized his co-workers by making his notes nearly impossible to look over without Ivan's translating it. Mentally leaving himself a note about correcting that problem, he scanned over the section relating to the current procedure.

According to these instructions, almost illegible due to the fact that he understood things better and usually worked when or until half-conscious, he was doing everything right. All he had to do now was transfer what he has already made and wait .

Gingerly setting down the paper, Ivan walks back to the pot located in the precise center of the room. The substance had melted into a liquid and is now boiling, but, oddly, there is no steam rising from the furiously roiling solution that is now an eye-stinging shade of sapphire.

Without batting an eye, Ivan fetches something that resembles a ladle, only the scoop is perfectly round and the edges curl into themselves. Moving quickly and fluidly, he plunges it into the vat, filling the ladle to the brim. When the tool leaves the container, the remaining liquid drains of color as if the ladle has leeched it away and all movement stops.

Evidently, Ivan was not expecting this, and he gives it a suspicious look, gripping the handle of the ladle tighter, protecting it. When nothing explodes or bursts into flames, he relaxes and steps away from the enormous pot, making towards a small side table pressed into the far corner of the room.

The table is one of the few things in the vast storage room that is neither burnt nor stained, so it stands out, despite how tiny it is compared to the other furniture. The only thing resting on it is a rectangular open-faced box that is equally new-looking and is carefully placed so that the wider and shorter sides of the box are parallel to the table's.

The scientist fiddles with the edges of the box slightly, making sure that they were all the same distance away from the edges of the table. If he got this wrong, not only would it be dangerous, but he would need to start all over again, and probably replace some equipment. All he needed was his boss thinking he was some kind of klutzy idiot.

Ivan took a deep breath when he was positive that he had everything correct. If he were to be honest to himself, he was just procrastinating, afraid for failure. Unfortunately, Ivan was stubborn man, and a perfectionist at that. With a quick glance from the spoonful of liquid and the container staring at him from the table, he thrusts out the ladle and dumps it into the box.

The still bright-blue solution doesn't drop into the container, it, if anything, flows, as if it is still partially air. Ivan tries not to wince when it wobbles a bit after it has settled in the box.

Praying is illegal in the lab, but Ivan does send up a quick and painfully sincere 'thank you' before he removes his gloves and plunges his hands into the box, keeping his expression relaxed, despite how alive the not-quite-solid-yet mixture feels against his fingers. It is supposed to feel like that, but the tinge of alarm is a natural response and it is impossible to outgrow.

Ivan pushes and pulls the blue up and out of its container, letting it solidify in the air, guiding it with his palms. He waits for the glowing blue to fade into a different color that is almost skin-tone before he starts to really manipulate its shape, sculpting it into a humanoid figure, giving it a rough head, arms and legs. Eventually it start to develop on its own, coated with what is definitely skin, body becoming less vague and blurry as hands and feet are formed and given fingers and toes.

The scientist is smiling a bit, he isn't even aware of it, when he stops having to help it along and it is growing, creating itself, without even the touch of a human hand necessary. Soon, Ivan will have to finish his creation off, but now, all he can do is watch.

While Ivan observes with an almost loving expression, the form, one that is rather small and still seems to be young, gains a face. The face is almost unbearably innocent, lacking the small flaws and quirks that even a child would already have. With the sight of the completed facial features, Ivan knows that this one is a success, just as he had thought.

In that moment of enjoying the feeling of having achieved what he has worked for, the scientist has a name for his little creation, his child. Just as the newly formed fingers begin to flex, testing movement, Ivan knows he must act now.

He knows that he is smiling now, but he cannot do anything to stop it, now that this has turned out so well. The scientist leans forward and embraces the child that is standing on a table in front of him, yet to open his eyes. Procedure dictates that touching is to be kept a minimum before the specimen is named, but Ivan is feeling unbearably affectionate towards this bit of life in front of him.

Pressing a quick against-the rules kiss to the forehead, for luck, for reassurance that he is warm and alive, he doesn't know, Ivan whispers in the child's ear. He says the first thing that the boy will be able to remember.

"Your name is Alfred."

Before the sound had finished echoing in the absolute quiet that has settled over the storeroom, Alfred takes in his first breath and opens eyes the color of the morning sky, new and bright.

* * *

Hetalia is most assuredly not mine. This was beta'd by my good friend, the lovely Lovisa. So, hope you enjoyed the story, and please, no flaming.


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